


Evergreen

by subversivegrrl



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Caryl, Gen, USS Caryl Holiday Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2013-12-10
Packaged: 2018-01-04 03:21:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1075929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subversivegrrl/pseuds/subversivegrrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set between Seasons 2 & 3.  The gang is on the run, finds a temporary haven, and decides to celebrate what they still have, while they can.  Written for the USS Caryl First Winter/Holiday Fanfiction/Art Challenge.  Hints of developing Caryl relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Refuge

It was late, and the few of them who remained awake in their makeshift bunker kept their voices low, so as not to disturb those who slept. 

“I wish I'd taken an astronomy class. That would be a really useful thing to know these days,” said Glenn. “I’ll bet Dale would have known all about it.”

Carol snorted quietly. “ _Astronomy?_ Are you kidding? What possible good would that do us?”

“I’m serious, Carol. Not the really hard stuff, the physics - I’m talking about the basics, like what constellations are out, and which planets rise when and in what direction. If we knew any of that, and had a compass, I think we could figure out _when_ it is, maybe even down to the day. Weren’t you just talking about how frustrating it is not to even know what month we’re in?” 

She considered it briefly and concluded, “Okay, so maybe it could be useful, although just from the shorter days and the way the temperatures have dropped, I can tell you we’re probably already pretty deep into December.” She stretched and settled her blanket more securely around her shoulders. “You’re right, I do hate not knowing what day it is, and I feel like I should have kept better track, but I don’t suppose it matters much anymore. It’s just a thing from the past that I have trouble letting go of - I suppose it’s a control issue. You might have noticed I have a few of those.” 

Glenn let that pass without comment, knowing it would only earn him a pinch from Carol. She couldn’t see him roll his eyes, though. 

Daryl’s voice growled softly from the corner, “The two of you need to shut it and get the fuck to sleep, already. Carol, you got the dawn watch, you know better.”

“Yessir, Sergeant Daryl, sir,” mocked Carol, and pinched Glenn just on principle, before rolling onto her side and closing her eyes. 

****************************

In the morning they made a hasty breakfast of cold canned goods, packed up as usual and crammed themselves and their meager belongings into the three vehicles. They’d been traveling this way for long weeks now, moving from place to place in search of secure housing, doing their best to avoid the herds of walkers they knew they’d find in heavily-populated areas, except when they desperately needed to make a raid for supplies - like now. 

Maggie spotted the strip mall first, and stopped, idling the Tucson’s engine and letting Rick pull the Suburban alongside for a consult. “Take a look over there - the front of that little market on the end seems intact; the security gate’s still down. Think it’s worth checking out?” 

“Yeah, I do. We’re getting pretty low on everything, guess that’s as likely a spot as any.” He stuck his arm out the window and signaled Daryl to follow the other two vehicles into the parking lot. 

*****************************

They made short work of the gate’s lock with a pair of bolt cutters, and a sweep of the store turned up no unwanted inhabitants. T-Dog took up watch in front, and Lori stayed in the Suburban with Carl while the rest ransacked the place for edibles and any useful dry goods. A check behind the counter uncovered a shotgun and a box of shells, which produced a rare smile from Rick. Glenn quickly popped open the drawers as well, and gave a pleased “Hah!” when he came up with some boxes of loose matches and a digital watch. “Hey, Carol, check this out - it’s running, and it even has a calendar!” He slipped it into his pocket and moved to help with sorting their finds into several small grocery carts. They had fallen into the habit of dividing everything up as evenly as they could among the vehicles, not wanting anyone to be left without resources in case they got split up. T gave a low whistle to alert the rest as he spotted several walkers headed sluggishly in their direction, and they hastily shifted the haul into the backs of the trucks and moved out. 

*****************************

“There,” said Hershel, pointing out a low brick building. “Unitarian Church. What do you think? Not too big, and Unitarians aren’t - or weren’t, to my knowledge - the sort to huddle in their pews waiting for the end to come, so I suspect we might find the place to have fewer of them hanging around to bother us. Propane tank, too - might be we could fix some hot food for a change. Every church has a kitchen.”

The prospect of cooked food lit a sense of purpose in all of them, and they pried open a side door, took down the two walkers they found immediately inside, and spread out in small groups to clear the rest of the place. Hershel had been right - they counted only five corpses when all was said and done. With the interior purged of walkers, they regrouped and moved through the building, looking for weak points and taking stock of additional things they could use. 

The sanctuary was modern, and lacked the usual old-fashioned, beautiful but fragile leaded glass windows, featuring instead narrow columns of glass block that let in plenty of light but thwarted entrance by would-be thieves - and now, the dead. The rest of the rooms were outfitted with similar windows, giving everyone a huge sense of relief; not only was the glass sturdy enough to keep out walkers, but the thickness would also deaden any sounds they might make inside, rendering it doubly secure. The most vulnerable point they could see was the door they’d entered by, and they set a watch on it until they could figure out some means of reinforcement. 

The kitchen was located at one end of a room filled with tables, and adjacent to what seemed to be a small preschool or daycare, complete with a stack of small mattresses for naps. Rick looked around and said, “We should set up sleeping quarters in here. Look, if we put two of these side-by-side, that’s plenty of room for each of the adults; throw a sleeping bag on top and we should be pretty comfortable. Lori and me and Carl can stick some more together, make ourselves a little Grimes pile.” Lori rolled her eyes at that, but didn’t comment. She still wasn’t speaking to her husband much more than was absolutely necessary. “I’ll tell you what, it’s gonna be a real treat to be able to get up and move around at night without worrying about steppin’ on someone.”

Making a sort of bucket brigade between the parking lot and the side door, they quickly moved their gear and some of the food inside. Daryl caught T-Dog’s eye and jerked his head toward the rear of the building. “There’s some outbuildings back there we should check out before we get too comfortable. Looks like they had a garden started, too - might get lucky and find some cold-weather stuff that’s still good.” Glenn joined them, and they made their way silently past the brick walls, unwilling to chance attracting any walkers in the area. 

*****************************

Carol and Beth both held their breath as Lori tried the stove. When the match she held caught, turning the escaping gas to blue flame, all three of them clapped and squealed, bringing everyone within earshot running. “Look!” Beth exclaimed. “Hot dinner, coming up!” She turned to hug Carol, stopping at the sight of the older woman in tears. “Oh, honey! I thought you’d be happy?” Carol sniffled and reached out to embrace the girl, saying, “Don’t pay any attention to me, sweetie, you should know by now I’m a weeper. I’m thrilled, it’s just the thought of having hot food in my stomach made me all… emo.” 

A few minutes later Daryl came through the door, a smug smile on his face, and dumped a pile of vegetables on the counter. “Ladies, dinner is served. Ain’t rabbit or squirrel, but it should fill the belly nicely.” Several small cabbages, a couple of heads of kale, a double handful of miraculously un-frozen if somewhat woody carrots and beets, and a hard-rind squash that had been buried beneath the foliage - it was the first fresh produce any of them had seen since leaving the Greene farm. “You like that, you’re gonna love this - boys, bring ‘em in.” 

T and Glenn marched in, wearing identical satisfied smirks and carrying two large kerosene heaters and a five-gallon can of fuel. “There’s another can of kerosene out there, and we found some plywood we can use to barricade that door. Just give us a couple hours or so to get ‘er all set up and runnin’, and we’ll be toasty-warm in no time.” He shot a worried glance at Carol, asking Beth, “Why’s she cryin’? I figured she’d be happy?” Beth grinned and shrugged. “Happy tears, Daryl. Don’t fret about it.”

“Well, hell, if that makes you happy, Carol, wait’ll you hear this: There’s two full rain barrels out there, up under the eaves of the building. Must hold at least fifty gallons each, Probably want to boil any of that we wanna use for cooking or drinking, but it should be just fine for washing,” He looked to Rick, saying, “We should still be careful, conserve all we can, but there’s enough there we should be able to stay here at least a couple-three days, maybe more, get rested and fed up. I’m thinkin’ this might even be a place we could hole up all winter.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Daryl,” Rick cautioned, meaning, _don’t get their hopes up before we think this through._ “For now, let’s just see about getting some of that water in here, let people clean up a bit, get some food in our stomachs. We can talk more about it tomorrow. I don’t know about you, but I’m damned tired of sleeping in the cold, so let’s get those heaters going, then we can work on the rest.” 

As the chill began to lift from their sleeping room and the kitchen, some of the tension eased from faces that had grown thin and worn during their time on the run. Carol, who was almost always cold, sat beside one of the heaters for a while, soaking up the warmth, the tears on her face mixing with a wide, grateful smile. It was amazing what small comforts could do for your state of mind: what had been that morning almost unthinkable, to get at least somewhat clean, real vegetables for dinner, hot food, a warm place to sleep… She was surprised more of them weren’t right there with her, crying for the joy of simple things. 

*******************************

While the water warmed on the stove and the rest took turns getting washed up in the nearby restrooms, Beth and Carol set about concocting something from the mish-mash of groceries they’d found. Before long the smells of cornbread, canned stew, and sauteed cabbage drew everyone back to the central area, where they gathered around one of the long tables and tried to be patient. Carol kept a wooden spoon in hand, and anyone who attempted to sneak a taste got their knuckles rapped for their trouble.


	2. That Holiday Feeling

His stomach full at last, Glenn finally remembered the watch in his pocket, and announced, “It says it’s December 19th. Less than a week until Christmas.” He looked up to see a somber cast fall over the faces around him, and winced, adding, “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” The approach of the holiday season hadn’t even registered with any of them - they’d been too busy trying to survive, and figure out how they would get through the winter. It was their first Christmas since the virus attacked, and none of them could help now but think of loved ones lost, and past lives torn apart. It put a pall over what had been, up to that point, the best day they’d known in a long, long while. 

“It’ll be the winter solstice in just a day or two,” Carol mused. “The shortest day of the year; or the longest night, if you want to look at it that way. I guess maybe it depends on whether you’re an optimist or a pessimist.” _We should do something special_ , she thought. “We should do something. To celebrate. I mean - right here, right now, we’re safe. And almost warm. And we have hot food in our bellies, and we have each other. That’s not something we should take for granted.” Around her, faces began to brighten a little with interest. 

“I don’t know,” she continued, “I’m not sure I want to celebrate Christmas, in particular - no offense, Hershel, but I’m not feeling all that kindly toward God these days, and I don’t know what the rest of you believe in, or even _if_ you believe. But I think it’s worth taking just a little time to appreciate what we have. I guess we missed Thanksgiving, but we could sort of think of it as a combined Thanksgiving/Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanzaa…” She abruptly ran out of winter holidays, and ended up with "That would make it Thank-mas-kah-zaa?" Her rapt audience broke up laughing. 

“Well, me, I was raised in the church, but I pretty much stopped going once I was out of my mama’s house,” offered T-Dog. 

“My grandfather was Buddhist, but my parents didn’t follow any religion, and I’ve never really thought about it much. But I like Christmas,” chimed in Glenn. Rick and Lori were both raised Protestant, but weren’t much for regular church attendance; Beth and Hershel had been the most devout among them, but both admitted to having found their faith severely tested by the events of the previous months. Maggie declined to add anything about her own beliefs; Carol suspected that was mostly out of deference to her father’s feelings. Daryl, unsurprisingly, was silent on the subject. 

“I have a suggestion,” Glenn said. “Don’t laugh, now, I think you’ll like it. I had a bunch of friends who were active in the SCA - that’s the Society for Creative Anachronism; you know, the people who get dressed up in armor and hold tournaments, and talk like they’re from the Middle Ages, and get all hot under the collar if someone’s wearing something that’s ‘not period’?” He got a mix of nods, smiles, and confused looks from around the table. “Anyway, they do - used to do - something they called a Bardic Circle. That’s where everyone gets together - and drinks, usually, but we don’t have to do that part - and everyone has to contribute something to the entertainment, like a story, or a song, or a poem. It’s so there’s no separation between who’s the performers and who’s the audience. It’s like people used to do, back before there was television and stuff.” His headlong and somewhat muddled explanation brought smiles all around, 

“So what the fuck we supposed to do if we don’t know any stories? and you sure as hell don’t want me to sing,” asked Daryl, sneering. 

_"Language_ , Daryl,” murmured Hershel. “We are in a house of God.” 

“No, we ain’t, old man. We’re in a kitchen. And I still wanna know what y’all expect me to do.” 

“There are books here,” said Beth. “Story books for the kids, and there are some bookshelves I saw down that hall - some nature things, and I think maybe even some poetry. I bet you could find something in there.” Daryl eyed the girl suspiciously, but that seemed to appease him. “And we could sing carols - Carol,” she grinned. “Everybody here probably knows at least ‘Silent Night’ and ‘Jingle Bells’ and… oh, a bunch of others.” 

“We’d have to keep it down, though,” Rick reminded them. “We’ve been lucky today, and we don’t want to attract unwanted attention. Otherwise, it’s the best idea I’ve heard in a long time. It’s nice to have something to look forward to.” That decided it for everyone, and they spent what remained of the afternoon in a state of cheerful oblivion, thinking and talking about what they wanted to share. 

Carol wandered off to see what she might find in the church’s office - a bible, at the very least; loss of faith or not, she thought it likely that Hershel and Beth might find some comfort in reading that familiar Christmas story. For that matter, so might she. On the wall, she found a calendar that confirmed that the following night was the solstice, and the day’s square also contained the words “Christmas Revels, 7:00 p.m.,” written in pen. Some sort of holiday gathering, she guessed, and then was struck to the heart by the utter sadness of it. “They would have been here,” she said aloud, and she sank down into a chair and put her face in her hands. 

"Who woulda been here?” Daryl asked from the doorway. 

She startled, snapping her head up to meet his eyes. Even indoors he could be as quiet as a cat. 

“The people who worshiped here, Daryl; they had something planned for tomorrow night. They would have been here, celebrating with their families and friends, and now where are they?" She could hear the sharpness rising in her voice, almost panic, but somehow she couldn't control it. "They’re dead, or _undead_ , or running and hiding, just like us. And here we are in their home, using up their supplies, eating off of their dishes...” She knew it was ridiculous, especially after they’d broken into so many homes for exactly the same purposes, but suddenly she felt like an intruder, like they were uninvited guests crashing a private party. 

He crossed the room and crouched in front of her, balancing himself with a hand on her knee. Unexpectedly, he reached up and wiped away the tears that she hadn’t even realized were streaming down her face. “Hey. None of that's your fault, Carol. We’re just tryin’ to get by. An’ I don’t think these people would begrudge us the chance to hide out here; I been lookin’ around, and these were people who cared a lot about others. Just look at the posters around here; here’s one about a food drive, and there’s one outside about a fundraiser for a women’s shelter. There’s more down the hall, too, different things. They wasn’t the type to have Jesus up their asses on Sunday morning and then spit on some poor homeless bastard on the way home. I think they’d like it that they could help us.” 

Carol stared at him, positively stunned. “Daryl Dixon, I think that is probably the most words I’ve ever heard you say on any one topic, in all the time I’ve known you.” He scowled at her and turned away, muttering under his breath, _Aww, hell…_ “Wait, Daryl, please?” She stood and reached out, laying her hand on his arm to stop him. “Thank you. I’m not sure what the world’s coming to when you’re the voice of reason, but…” He heard the teasing note in her voice and side-eyed her, certain she was going to say something else to aggravate him, but she simply brushed a kiss against his cheek and gave his arm a small squeeze. “You’re right. If that’s the kind of people they were, they probably would have given us what we’ve taken, if we’d asked them.” 

He nodded, and something that might have been taken for a smile flitted across his face. "So you okay now?" She nodded back, and he continued, "Good, 'cause I need your help figurin' out what I'm gonna do for this thing you roped me into." He looked closely down into her face, his expression suggesting he didn't much like what he saw. "Might wanna wipe your eyes 'fore you go back out, though. You been weepy all day, people are startin' to worry. " He shoved a bandanna into her hands and nodded for her to use it, a faint frown on his face. _Hm,_ she thought. _People were starting to worry. Couldn't be that tough-guy Daryl himself was concerned, not at all._

As she left the office, Carol noticed a three-ring binder on a shelf, with the words “Christmas Revels” printed on the spine. Inside were the materials for the planned festivities, which appeared to be an annual event dating back a number of years. Thumbing through it, she found copies of readings, poems, and songs that had been part of the program. She took the binder with her and returned to the kitchen, lost in her thoughts. 


	3. The Shortest Day

“Hey, can we get a hand, here?” Maggie called from the doorway. She and Daryl had disappeared immediately after lunch, and now came bearing armloads of pine greenery they had cut from the treeline that bordered the church property. 

Rick ran a hand through his hair, obviously irritated, and said, “That was a damn fool move, you two. What if you’d run into trouble?” 

Daryl shrugged, and said, “All quiet, chief. Nothin’ movin’ out there except the wind.” 

By now the scent of pine was beginning to perfume the air, and everyone had their hands in the mass of branches, pulling them apart to decorate the room, and Rick chose to let it go. “Just should have told us where you were going; we could have put a few more eyes out there with you.” 

“We were safe about it, Rick,” Maggie insisted. “And it was worth it, I’d say,” nodding at the flurry of excitement around the tables. “It just didn’t smell like Christmas without it.”

They had opted not to use the sanctuary for their solstice observance, mainly because the kitchen was so much warmer, but also because it felt much too intrusive. They did find a cache of candles behind the altar, and after setting aside a substantial portion, put the rest on the table to be lit during dinner. 

Everyone joined in to decorate, finding colorful yarn in the preschool’s art supplies to add bows to the pine boughs, and even a couple of boxes of holiday decorations in a storage area. The result was a bizarre melange of paper honeycomb turkeys, blue and white painted cardboard dreidels - apparently the congregation marked everyone’s holy days - oversized Christmas balls, red and green plastic bells, greenery, and candles. 

Dinner preparation was also a team effort, including T, who revealed a previously-unknown gift with homemade biscuits. The rest of the menu included tuna casserole, canned corn and lima beans (Carol couldn’t bring herself to call such a poor offering “succotash”), what could be salvaged from the carrots and beets, and the entire squash, baked in the oven. Carol wished in vain for real butter and brown sugar to fill it with. 

The entertainment ran the gamut, from cheesy (jokes by Carl) to surprising (T-Dog’s rendition of “What Child is This,” delivered in a mellow, tuneful baritone.) “Theodore, you are a constant source of amazement. First the biscuits, now this?” Hershel joked. T ducked his head, grinning shyly in a display that rivaled even Daryl’s most awkward moments. 

Rick read “The Night Before Christmas,” Lori selected Robert Frost’s “Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening.” Maggie had found a copy of David Sedaris’s _Naked_ and read carefully edited portions of a story called “Dinah, the Christmas Whore,” much to her sister’s and father’s dismay. Hershel, as if to counter it, read the Christmas story from the Gospel of Luke. 

Glenn and Daryl had been cooking something up since the previous night, hiding out in one of the unheated rooms and not letting anyone else in. The only clue was a muffled, rhythmic sound that had popped up repeatedly during the day. When their turn came, Glenn ran off to their “rehearsal space” and came back bearing a tall, cylindrical drum with a wildly colorful jungle pattern printed on it. He dashed off a little drum roll with his hands, and said, “now, this is the kind of thing they’d do at a real Bardic Circle.” He looked to Daryl, who was settling into his chair; in his hands was a large book. with a painting on the cover of a face among leaves. “Go for it, my man,” said Glenn, and began to drum a steady rhythm, _bum-BUM-ba-dum-bum,_ like the beat of a giant and complex heart.

_“Like antlers, like veins of the brain, the birches_  
 _Mark patterns of mind on the red winter sky;_  
 _'I am thought of all plants,' says the Green Man,_  
 _'I am thought of all plants,' says he._

_“The Hungry birds harry the last berries of rowan_  
 _But white is her bark in the darkness of rain;_  
 _'I rise with the sap,' says the Green Man,_  
 _'I rise with the sap,' says he.”_

On each closing line, Glenn's voice joined with Daryl's to echo the phrase. The rhythms of words and drum together were compelling, and Carol found herself, like the others, leaning forward to catch every syllable. It was so vivid, she could see every image as Daryl evoked it. It was so perfectly _him_ , she thought, and was glad they’d found the book the night before, after he’d asked.

_“The ashes are clashing their boughs like sword-dancers,_  
 _Their black buds are tracing wild faces in the clouds;_  
 _'I come with the wind,' says the Green Man,_  
 _'I come with the wind,' says he._

_“The Alders are rattling as though ready for battle_  
 _Guarding the grove where she waits for her lover;_  
 _'I burn with desire,' says the Green Man,_  
 _'I burn with desire,' says he._

_“In and out of the yellowing wands of the willow_  
 _The pollen-bright bees are plundering the catkins;_  
 _'I am honey of love,' says the Green Man,_  
 _'I am honey of love,' says he._

_“The hedges of quick are thick with May blossom_  
 _As the dancers advance on the leaf-covered King:_  
 _'It's off with my head,' says the Green Man_  
 _'It's off with my head,' Says he._

_“Green Man becomes grown man in flames of the oak_  
 _As its crown forms his mask and its leafage his features;_  
 _'I speak through the oak,' says the Green Man_  
 _'I speak though the oak,' say he._

_“The holly is flowering as hayfields are rolling_  
 _Their gleaming long grasses like waves of the sea;_  
 _'I shine with the sun,' says the Green Man,_  
 _'I shine with the sun,' says he,_

_“The hazels are rocking the cups of their nuts_  
 _As harvesters shout when the last sheaf is cut;_  
 _'I swim with the salmon,' says the Green man,_  
 _'I swim with the salmon,' says he._

_“The globes of the grapes are robing with bloom_  
 _Like the hazes of Autumn,like the Milky Way's stardust;_  
 _'I am crushed for your drink,' says the Green man,_  
 _'I am crushed for your drink,' says he,_

_“The aspen drops silver of leaves on earth's salver_  
 _And the poplars shed gold on the young ivy flower heads;_  
 _'I have paid for your pleasure,' says the Greenman,_  
 _'I have paid for your pleasure,' says he._

_“The reed beds are flanking in silence the islands_  
 _Where meditates Wisdom as she waits and waits:_  
 _'I have kept her secret,' says the Green Man,_  
 _'I have kept her secret,' says he._

_“The bark of the elder makes whistles for children_  
 _To call to the deer as they rove over the snow;_  
 _'I am born in the dark,' says the Green Man,_  
 _'I am born in the dark,' says he.”_

Daryl’s eyes, as he finished reading, were almost as intense as when setting out on a hunt, and several of his listeners released breath they didn’t even know they’d been holding. Glenn was gleeful, chuckling, “Wasn’t that a rush?” Daryl nodded, reluctantly accepting the others' shower of praise, but Carol saw something in his face that made her pulse flutter and her cheeks warm - a wildness, kept in check but always hiding just behind his eyes. It seemed the man had the soul of a poet. Who would ever have known?

Finally it was Carol’s turn. “I wanted to make a sort of dedication before I read this, if that’s alright with everyone. Now, I don’t want to make anyone cry - although I did find a box of tissues, and they’re right there beside my chair if you need one - but I want to dedicate this to the people who aren’t with us tonight.” There was a restless stir among the rest of her little improvised family, knowing what was coming, and both welcoming and dreading it. “I wish we had some wine so we could toast; I guess if you want to, you still can, even though it's only water.” 

She waited until all had their glasses in their hands before she went on. “To my precious Sophia; to Dale, and the Morales family; to Shane, and Andrea, and Amy; to Daryl’s brother Merle,” and her eyes found him easily across the room, offering him a sad smile, his eyes wide with surprise. “To Jimmy, and Patricia, and Otis… oh, am I forgetting anyone?” Around her came a tumble of names, some who’d gone before they’d all met, some of those from the quarry she’d never had a chance to get to know. 

“And last, I’d like to include some people you didn’t know; people I didn’t know either, but if things had been different, they would have been here tonight for their own celebration, and I think they have the right to share this with us.” 

“To Margie Sokol, who was the pastor of this church, and her husband Pete; their two teenagers, Peter and Miranda; the Hansons, the Akers family; Sol and Anne Hartnung. Sol always played the hammered dulcimer at the Christmas Revels. Mary and Bill Clime, the Baers…” She continued to read from her list of names, assembled from the records she’d found in the office. “That’s all the names I could find from years past; I’d like to think they’re here with us in spirit.” In silence they raised their glasses and drank to the dead and missing. 

Carol turned to the binder and said, “This was one of the pieces they would have read tonight, and I think it’s just beautiful. It’s called ‘The Shortest Day.’” 

_“And so the Shortest Day came and the year died_  
 _And everywhere down the centuries of the snow-white world_  
 _Came people singing, dancing,_  
 _To drive the dark away._

_“They lighted candles in the winter trees;_  
 _They hung their homes with evergreen;_  
 _They burned beseeching fires all night long_  
 _To keep the year alive._  
 _And when the new year's sunshine blazed awake_  
 _They shouted, revelling._

_“Through all the frosty ages you can hear them_  
 _Echoing behind us - listen!_  
 _All the long echoes, sing the same delight,_  
 _This Shortest Day,_

_“As promise wakens in the sleeping land:_  
 _They carol, feast, give thanks,_  
 _And dearly love their friends,_  
 _And hope for peace._  
 _And now so do we, here, now,_  
 _This year and every year.”_

No one clapped, but that’s what Carol had hoped for - that they were as moved by the simple words as she had been. She sat and put her arms around Beth and Carl, who were seated on either side of her.

 _“Dona nobis pacem, pacem,”_

Beth’s silvery voice rang out in the silence, and everyone around her stilled. 

_“Dona nobis pacem.”_

As she finished the first stanza, she looked at Maggie, who nodded and drew a deep breath to join her sister for the second verse. Maggie took the melody line, and Beth’s voice soared above it in a high descant that twined around the simple tune, _“Dona nobis…”_ As they reached the end, Hershel chimed in with a baritone counterpoint, weaving three voices into a gorgeous tapestry that echoed into the far corners of the room. They continued on, the parts changing with each round, and some of the others joined in, humming or softly echoing the ancient words as they felt comfortable. By an unspoken accord, they slowed and brought the song to a close, and all fell silent again, listening to the last notes as they shimmered in the air.

“That was so beautiful,” said Carol, quietly. “I know it’s Latin, but what is it?” 

Hershel smiled. “It means, ‘grant us peace.’ I think we can all agree that’s a fine sentiment, for us tonight, and for the rest of the world as well.” 

“We learned it in school choir,” said Maggie. “It was part of the holiday concert every year, and Daddy used to help out; he heard it so many times, he got the church to add it to their Christmas Eve service, too. Funny thing, to hear Baptists sing in Latin.” 

Carol looked around the room at their serene faces, and said, “Unless anyone has anything else, I think that’s a lovely note to end on, don’t you?” They began to stir from the spell of Beth’s offering, hugging each other and picking up their dishes to return them to the kitchen sink. By mutual agreement clean-up would be postponed until morning; they were all tired enough that they knew sleep would claim them easily. 

***************************************

In just a few minutes she found herself alone, tidying up the room - except for Daryl, who had kept his seat, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, fiddling distractedly with his cuticles and from time to time looking up to catch her eye. “Was there something you wanted, Daryl?” 

He ducked his head, or maybe it was a nod. “That was a good thing, what you did. Sometimes we need to remember them, so it don’t blindside us when we’re not expecting.” She hadn’t thought of it like that, but it made sense - to deliberately air the hurt, let out some of the pressure, rather than having it build up and escape at a time when they couldn’t afford to break down. 

“Anyway, I just wanted to say thanks; you didn’t have to put Merle in there, ‘cause I know deep down he ain’t dead, but I’m glad you did. None of these other folks woulda even thought to include him.” 

“My pleasure, Daryl. He may have scared the hell out of most of us, but he was your family - he _is_ your family - and I truly hope you’re right that he’s still out there.” 

It was hard for her to see him, now that most of the candles had been extinguished, but she could still feel his eyes on her, and it helped her make up her mind about something she’d been considering for a while. 

“Would you come outside with me, Daryl? There’s something I want to get from the truck.” He raised a curious eyebrow, but immediately stuck his head into the sleeping room to inform Rick of what they were doing, retrieved his crossbow from where it leaned by the kitchen doorway, and checked his knives; she saw him briefly consider and discard the idea of also taking a gun (she didn’t know how she knew that’s what had passed through his mind as she watched him, but she did) before escorting her out to the truck, the one in which they’d been traveling companions since the falling temperatures had made the bike impractical transport. She rummaged briefly in a bag in the cab while he kept watch, tucked something under her sweater and touched his hand to indicate she was ready to go back. 

Inside again, he immediately turned and said, “What you got there that was so important we had to go out after dark for it?” 

She tilted her head toward the office, indicating they should move away from the others, most of whom were settling in for the night. He followed, his curiosity burning. 

She closed the office door behind them and put her back against it, effectively barring his exit. “I… I have something for you, Daryl. It’s something I found weeks ago and have been keeping - oh, I’m not sure what I’ve been saving it for. I’d almost say ‘a special occasion’ but I think if I said that out loud I wouldn’t be able to stop laughing. This has been a pretty special day, though, and… I know we agreed no Christmas presents, but… I had this already, it’s not like I had to go to any effort to get it.” She wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince, him, or herself. “Here. For you. Because I know you like bourbon, and I think this is supposed to be good, isn’t it?” 

The bottle she held out to him was Pappy Van Winkle whiskey, marked “20 Year Family Reserve,” and she thought Daryl’s eyebrows were going to disappear into his hairline, he was so surprised. “This shit is like a hundred bucks a bottle, Carol. I don’t even know anyone who’s ever tasted it, let alone... Why the hell you givin’ it to me? I ain’t done anything special.” 

“It’s a gift, Daryl. It doesn’t have to be a reward or a thank you, it’s just… I wanted you to have it.” She felt like she was going to jump out of her skin, for some reason; not the least of it was the thought of the avid gleam that had burned in his eyes as he'd finished reading that poem. 

He looked down at it, and at her, and back at the bottle, like one or the other of them would explain it all to him. “Didn’t get you nothin'.” 

“Didn’t expect anything, Daryl. How about if we just say you’ll get me something, sometime down the line; not something I need or ask for, just something you think I’d like? Is that fair?” 

“Guess that works for me." He looked back down at the bottle, shaking his head. "Uh, thanks. Merry Christmas, Carol.”

“Merry Christmas, Daryl.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To hear what I heard in my head while writing this last chapter, listen to Beth Nielsen Chapman’s version of "Dona Nobis Pacem", from her album “Hymns.” http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KYQ4mU1BVIY It doesn’t quite capture what it was in my imagination, but if you've not heard the song before it will give you a good idea, and I wanted so much to share its beauty with you as well. 
> 
> The poems are “The Green Man” © 1998 William Anderson, and "The Shortest Day" © 1977 Susan Cooper.
> 
> BTW, the Christmas Revels are an Actual Thing. They're held in cities all over the world every year, and "The Shortest Day" is, I believe, always included. Google it. It's a very cool event.
> 
> \-------------------------------------------  
> I got to thinking about this story after the fact, and how OOC it probably was for Daryl to have participated at all in the Bardic Circle, let alone read that long-ass poem (which I put in strictly because I LOVE IT), so I came up with an explanation for how it came about - see the link below.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Backstage at the Bardic Circle](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1093675) by [subversivegrrl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/subversivegrrl/pseuds/subversivegrrl)




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